The stairs...

[2ndchance]

Hi all,

First thing, happy new year to you all.

Okay, what I am interested in mostly is your views on the pace. Obviously anything else would be appreciated, grammar, punctuation etc. For those who haven’t read my threads before, 15-year-old Rebecca is finding the spiral-stairs for the first time. Meredith is a woman in a painting in the hallway of Rebecca’s old house. Its’ 2008.

Steve

Rebecca stuffed the last bite of her sandwich – she knew it was too much for one mouthful, but hey, no one here to moan, she thought. She locked the front door, wondering where to start. As she sauntered down the path toward the lake, she slowed, remembering the old ramshackle stables off to the right and headed over in that direction. Standing by a dilapidated wooden door covered in brambles, she realised she would need an alternative way in. She peered through the broken window, and spotting a possible way in at the rear, she made her way round the back, and carefully clambered over the remains of a broken down wall. Stepping into thick, straw-like, knee-high grass, Rebecca suspected her search might prove a little trickier than she’d initially thought. As she stood surveying the long grass and twisted brambles, she spotted a slim piece of wood propped up against some fallen bricks off to her right and carefully made her way over. Clearing away a few nettles, she picked up the piece of wood, turned it optimistically, thinking it was certainly the right size for a nameplate. Using a small piece of broken roof tile, she carefully scraped at the grubby, rotting piece of wood, examining it attentively, and soon realised it was just an old piece of wood.

She continued searching the ruins, finding only the odd piece of decayed wood or broken roof tile. Just as she was about to leave, something out of the ordinary caught her eye in the far corner, just poking out from the deep grass. Focussed on this old rusty piece of metal, she recklessly clambered over the fallen bricks and bramble. She stumbled, almost falling, when she spotted the curved corners and a splattering of green paint. Looks interesting, she thought, as she got closer. She bent down, carefully, avoided some more nettles, and pulled at the piece of metal. She pulled again, harder this time, until finally, it lifted free. Eagerly, she turned it over, and rubbing carefully with her hanky, revealed the name, Nadine. Sounds like a horse-name, she thought. Using her hanky again, she rubbed away more of the dirt and decided to google the name on her computer, doubtful it was the house-name she’d been looking for.

Rebecca headed back up to the main house, carefully placed the nameplate by the front door, and started upstairs to her computer. Half way up, she paused, as her thoughts unexpectedly returned to summerhouse. Getting that same odd, drawing feeling, she’d had so often, she decided to leave the nameplate and instead go and investigate the weird sensation she kept feeling.

She hesitated for a second, knowing her mum would probably be cross if she went alone, but as always, her inquisitive zest took over, and so she hurried back outside, and down the path. Arriving at the summerhouse, she went straight to the door of the darker room, looked inside, and as expected, it was empty, so she turned to the other room. She rummaged about, looking through the old photos, and wondered what was calling her. She stood for a couple minutes as she mulled over the picture of Meredith. All of a sudden, an odd shiver went down her spine and believing something was calling, turned swiftly toward the third door.

Standing by the locked door, she took a deep breath, and tried the handle. Nothing, it didn’t budge, not even a creek. Still breathing deeply, she tried again, again nothing, and then all of a sudden the handle turned easily. Panting with excitement, she stood bolt upright, clenched her lips tight, and frowned. She felt her neck tingle, as she considered Meredith’s spirit might have somehow opened the door for her.

She stood back a step and pulled the door toward her, and although it moved slightly, it failed to open. She frowned, placed her hand on her hip, and then laughed as she pushed the door inward. At first, it creaked a little, and then suddenly it opened easily, revealing a dark dingy room. She peered in, slowly allowing her eyes to adjust, and focussed on what appeared to be a spiral staircase. Shesquinted and guardedly entered through the narrow doorway. With just enough space to move, she covered herself in dust as she eased her way between the wall andthe metal banister. Brushing herself down, she shivered when she suddenly realised no one had been in here for a long, long time.

Wavering at the bottom of the stairs, she put her hand on the cold rail, and peered up into the darkness, then glanced down at the first step, then up again, and wondered.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully placed her foot on the step, and probed the deep spongy dust until it felt firm under foot. She then stood on the step, which made a clunky sound that echoed around the stairwell, and again her neck tingled. Little by little, she climbed the stairs, until she arrived by small door. Placing her hand on the tiny cold handle, she turned it back and forth several times, and although it moved freely, the door failed to open. She frowned, and wondered where this was leading her.

She continued slowly to edge her way up the narrowing stairs until she arrived at a second door that appeared to have a tiny window. With just enough room to peer through, she widened the beam on her torch and shone it through the window, but strangely the room remained pitch black. Pausing for a second, she again wondered if this was where she should be going. Slowly, she turned the handle, until she felt it click once. She gasped as the handle pulled from her grip and the door opened inwards, seemingly on its own. As her mind raced, she stood, trying to regain her bearings. Feeling just inside the doorframe with her hand, she squinted, as her torch suddenly went off. Hesitating for a moment, she flicked the switch on her torch a couple of times, but nothing, she shook it and tried the switch several more times, muttering, ‘This always works.’

She stood there for a couple of moments, gradually adjusting to the darkness, eventually her eyes settled on the far side of the room, where she could just make out a small window. She entered the room, slowly at first to allowing her eyes more time to adjust. The floor felt spongy under foot, so she moved forward carefully, trying not to disturb too much dust. All of a sudden, she stumbled, and a cloud of dust filled the room. Coughing, she spluttered, groping around in the dark as she tried to regain her composure. Making her way toward the window, she heard the door slam behind her. She paused for a second and instinctively turned back toward the door, peering into the darkness, and as she did, the room suddenly filled with light. Rebecca gasped, and still coughing from the dust, she squinted as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. As she familiarised herself with her new surroundings, she unexpectedly heard her name called in a voice she didn’t recognise.

‘Rebecca, where are you, where are you hiding today?’

She was positively uncertain about the voice, and apprehensively called out. ‘Mum... Is that you?’

Again, she heard the voice. ‘Who else did you think it would be my dear? Did I hear you coughing just now?’

Motionless, and still staring at the door, Rebecca felt a shiver go down her spine. She blinked a couple of times and without moving her body, she peered from one side to the other. Feeling extremely uneasy, she turned slowly and to her astonishment, the curtains were now drawn. The bright sunlight made it hard to focus, but as she squinted, she could see that bizarrely there was no sign of the thick dust. As her eyes focussed a little more, she could see a large single bed with a white lace edged cover, two large tan, silky looking pillows, and a neatly placed, frilly green dress. Biting her top lip, she muttered, ‘This is very weird. This room suddenly looks new. Am I imagining this?’ Again, Rebecca frowned as her eyes hurried around the room and settled a small wooden desk. Making her way over the desk, she heard her named called again.

‘Rebecca, are you talking to yourself again?’

This time the woman’s voice seemed close and although her tone was soothing and gentle, Rebecca did not know this voice.

She shivered, hesitated for a moment, and thought how very peculiar this was becoming. Just about to answer, she bit her bottom lip as she remembered her mum was at the spa. Still unsure, she called out uneasily, ‘Mum, come and look at this room, it looks new, I don’t know what is going on. Mum, mum, where are you.’

‘I am just coming, my dear. What do you mean it is new? You know it is new, after all, you helped decorate it.’

Suddenly she heard the door close and was aware of someone standing behind her. Turning slowly, Rebecca took a sharp intake of breath. A slender, petite, very beautiful, dark haired woman was standing in the doorway. The woman was dressed in an ankle length, light brown skirt that had the appearance of some kind of hessian, a white frilly blouse, and a dark red and green shawl draped loosely around her shoulders.

‘Oh here you are my lovely, hiding in your new room again. Come on lunch is almost ready. Then after, we must do our chores. We have responsibilities you know, we can’t stay here for free, and we are due at the stables soon.’

Rebecca trembled, breathing heavily, as she felt a succession of shivers go up and down her spine. She raised her eyes and wondered what is going on. Her mind started racing, she glanced at the floor, then up at the woman, and thought, is this? She shivered again and glanced at the hairs on her arm, knowing this was indeed Meredith.

 

[HareBrain]

Hi Steve

I'm only going to comment on the pacing, as it would take too much time to point out everything in such a long piece (though I might come back later and do a couple of paragraphs as examples). I'll also make a general comment, that although there is a lot of polishing needed, I think this is good solid stuff, and is the best thing I've seen you put up. I was interested enough to read through it all.

Onto the pacing, I thought in general it was fine, except that the pace seemed to flag a little in the two paragraphs between "she continued slowly" and "didn't recognise". I think there might be quite a few unnecessary lines or details here, which become especially annoying as we sense we're drawing closer to something important happening.

 

[2ndchance]

HB,
Thanks for the positive comments. Interesting point you make about those two para's, I had intentionally slowed it down there, bit of wait-for-it. That said there are still too many words and I have shortened these two by around a 1/3.

Steve

 

[Boneman]

Hi Steve,

good to see more, (you are a glutton for punishment, you support the 'ammers. Whatever happened to Billy Bonds?) and I'll go over the piece, nitpicking as I go and then hopefully some helpful comments on the rest. All my own personal opinions: as usual should you, or you iron force, be caught, this note will self-destruct in five seconds.

Hi all,

First thing, happy new year to you all. Ditto!

Okay, what I am interested in mostly is your views on the pace. Obviously anything else would be appreciated, grammar, punctuation etc. For those who haven’t read my threads before, 15-year-old Rebecca is finding the spiral-stairs for the first time. Meredith is a woman in a painting in the hallway of Rebecca’s old house. Its’ 2008.

Steve

Rebecca stuffed the last bite of her sandwich where? – she knew it was too much for one mouthful, 'but hey, no one here to moan', she thought. Steve, not sure if the italics help or not, but as it's a direct rendition of her thoughts...? Small nitpick that one...She locked the front door, wondering where to start. As she sauntered down the path toward (are you writing for the American Market? They say 'toward' we Brits say 'towards' )the lake, she slowed, remembering the old ramshackle stables off to the right and headed over in that direction.I know they've just arrived, and this is her first chance to explore the outdoors, but (and please ignore this if it doesn't gel with you) might it be better if something pulls at her, a faint frisson of an energy, so she goes to the stables because of it? It's just that there's no mystery in her sauntering and then 'remembering' the old stables. If you don't want the mystery bit, then the stables must be out of her sight as she's sauntering, because she remembers them, she doesn't see them.
Standing by a dilapidated wooden door covered in brambles, That's a jump in time from one sentence to the next, a para break would be better to show some time has passed she realised she would need an alternative way in. She peered through the broken window, (? a broken window) and spotting a possible way in at the rear, she made her way round the back, and carefully clambered over the remains of a broken down wall. Stepping into thick, straw-like, knee-high grass, I see what you're trying to say, but it's five adverbs in a row. What about: 'the grass was knee high, and clung to her legs as she tried to make her way through it. Rebecca suspected...etc.' Just not sure you need so much description of the grass, but that's just me...Rebecca suspected her search might prove a little trickier than she’d initially thought. As she stood surveying As she surveyed the long grass and twisted brambles, she spotted a slim piece of wood propped up against some fallen bricks off to her right and carefully made her way over. Erm, very small nitpick this: it's the 2nd time you've used the word 'over' in relation to movement - above, you said: headed over in that direction. I'm not sure either in necessary. Certainly the first could be removed and not take anything from the meaning' Would 'Carefully made her way towards it' be easier. I said it was a verysmall nitpick...Clearing away a few nettles, she picked up the piece of wood, turned it optimistically, thinking it was certainly the right size for a nameplate.That's a strange thing to think, was she expecting a nameplate? Using a small piece of broken roof tile, she carefully scraped at the grubby, rotting piece of wood, examining it attentively, and soon realised it was just an old piece of wood. I like that, it's just her motivation, I thought she just wanted a piece of wood to clear the brambles away, to get in the stables?

She continued searching the ruins, ruins? What ruins? There's only a broken-down wall, so far. Or was this in a different chapter, a description of ruins?? finding only the odd piece of decayed wood or broken roof tile. Just as she was about to leave, Erm 'She turned to leave, and...?' something out of the ordinary Why is it out of the ordinary? I know you want to focus our attention on it, but you do that a lot better when she picks it up. caught her eye in the far corner, just poking out from the deep grass. What about: 'She turned to leave and something caught her eye. In the far corner a flash of colour in the straw-like grass stood out.' It's a bit clumsy but it gets over how she saw it as different (and brings in the straw-like!) Focussed on this old rusty piece of metal, she doesn't know it's an old rusty piece of metal yet... I think just start this sentence with 'she recklessly clambered....etc she recklessly clambered over thedelete 'the' fallen bricks and bramble. (hmm, what is it about this that makes her reckless through rubble and brambles? It could just be a nother piece of wood or tile. Maybe it's calling to her? Sorry, me trying to bring a supernatural element again... But there should be something, maybe the sun glints on it, it's a bit shiny...? She stumbled, almost falling, when she spotted the curved corners and a splattering of green paint. Looks interesting, she thought, as she got closer. She bent down, carefully, avoided some more nettles, and pulled at the piece of metal. She pulled again, harder this time, until finally, it lifted free.

Okay, because I introduced the green bit earlier, this would change. And she's gone from being reckless to careful all of a sudden... and it sounds like it was the spotting of the curved corners that made her stumble. Whatif those lines became: 'She stumbled, almost falling as she got close to it. The green flash that she had seen was revealed as paint. Interesting, she thought. Avoiding some stinging nettles, she tugged at it until it came free.
Eagerly, she turned it over, and rubbing carefully with her hanky, revealed the name, Nadine. Sounds like a horse-name, she thought. Using her hanky again, she rubbed away more of the dirt and decided to google the name on her computer, doubtful it was the house-name she’d been looking for. Ah! So she was looking for nameplates...

Rebecca headed back up to the main house, carefully placed the nameplate by the front door, and started upstairs to her computer. Half way up, she paused, as her thoughts unexpectedly returned to the summerhouse. Getting that same odd, drawing feeling, she’d had so often, she decided to leave the nameplate googling and instead go and investigate the weird sensation she kept feeling. see, you could use those feelings in the search...?

She hesitated for a second, knowing her mum would probably be cross if she went alone, but as always, her inquisitive zest took over, and so she hurried back outside, and down the path. Arriving at the summerhouse, she went straight to the door of the darker room,Full stop. She looked inside, and as expected, it was empty, so she turned to the other room. She rummaged about, looking through the old photos, and wondered what was calling her. She stood for a couple minutes as she mulled over the picture of Meredith. All of a sudden, I think this is a YA story, but 'all of a sudden' doesn't belong here... either'suddenly' or leave it out altogether an odd shiver went down her spine and believing something was calling, turned swiftly toward the third door. Why would she believe something was calling her? I know you've set us up very well in the previous paragraph, but odd shivers down her spine often presage premonition, trepidation. I think this needs to be a bit clearer.

Standing by the locked door, she took a deep breath, and tried the handle. Nothing, it didn’t budge, not even a creek.creak Still breathing deeply, she tried again, Full stop again nothing, and then all of a sudden Nope... see above. the handle turned easily. Panting with excitement, she stood bolt upright, clenched her lips tight, and frowned. I think lose this last sentence, (panting with....etc) you're trying to hard to tell us, when the next sentence does it soo much better (and anyway it's really difficult to clench your lips tight and frown at the same time - try it) She felt her neck tingle, as she considered Meredith’s spirit might have somehow opened the door for her. Erm.. I love the neck tingling, but this has now removed the mystery, the intrigue from the piece, and unless she is clairvoyant/medium why would she think this? And really, I'm not sure why you need the handle to turn after a couple of attempts. Since she's often tried it before, would it add to the scene if it opened the first time she tries it, and she's shocked by this?

She stood back a step and pulled the door toward her, and although it moved slightly, it failed to open. She frowned, placed her hand on her hip, I think, remove the hand from the hip and then laughed as she pushed the door inward. At first, it creaked a little, and then suddenly it opened easily, revealing a dark dingy room. She peered in, slowly allowing her eyes to adjust, and focussed on what appeared to be a spiral staircase. She squinted and guardedly cautiously?entered through the narrow doorway. With just enough space to move, she covered herself in dust dust covere her? as she eased her way between the wall and the metal banister. Brushing herself down, she shivered when she suddenly realised no one had been in here for a long, long time.

Wavering at the bottom of the stairs, she put her hand on the cold rail, and peered up into the darkness, then glanced down at the first step, then up again, and wondered. I like this. But it might be better with out the 'then's And she's got a torch!! (I only found that out further down the page, but she'd use it here!)

Taking a deep breath, she carefully placed her foot on the step, and probed the deep spongy dust until it felt firm under foot. She then remove then stood on the step, which made a clunky sound that echoed around the stairwell, and again her neck tingled. Little by little, she climbed the stairs, until she arrived by a small door. Placing her hand on the tiny cold handle, she turned it back and forth several times, and although it moved freely, the door failed to open. She frowned, and wondered where this was leading her. erm, I know what you mean, but it seems out of place here, this last sentence, not sure why: I thinks it's the 'where this was leading her'. I think she'd be fearful, excited, unceratin, but not wonder where this was leading her... small nitpick only.

She continued slowly to edge her way up the narrowing stairs until she arrived at a second door that appeared to have a tiny window. With just enough room to peer through, she widened the beam on her torch Torch? She's got a torch? I thought it was all dark... surely she'd have shone the torch up the stairs you'd have given us a good description of the cold/twisted metal and the dust and decay and so on...? and shone it through the window, but strangely the room remained pitch black. Pausing for a second, she again wondered if this was where she should be going. Slowly, she turned the handle, until she felt it click once. She gasped as the handle pulled from her grip and the door opened inwards, seemingly on its own. As her mind raced, she stood, trying to regain her bearings. Feeling just inside the doorframe with her hand, why? Is she looking for a lightswitch?she squinted, why? You widen your eyes when you lose the light, to try to get more light in. You squint when you're blinded by the light...as her torch suddenly went off. Hesitating for a moment, she flicked the switch on her torch a couple of times, but nothing, she shook it and tried the switch several more times, muttering, ‘This always works.’ Nope, she doesn't. She'd be frustrated saying 'Come on, come on, stupid torch' something like that. You're trying to tell us, when showing is much better.

She stood there for a couple of moments, gradually adjusting to the darkness, Full stop. eventually her eyes settled on the far side of the room, where she could just make out a small window. She entered the room, slowly at first to allowing her eyes more time to adjust. The floor felt spongy under foot, so she moved forward carefully, trying not to disturb too much dust. All of a sudden, Nope she stumbled, and a cloud of dust filled the room. Coughing, she spluttered, groping around in the dark as she tried to regain her composure.regain her composure? Isn't she trying to get her breath back, choking in all the dust? Making her way toward the window, 'stumbling towards the window', the room's full of dust that must be in her eyes as well. she heard the door slam behind her. She paused for a second and instinctively turned back toward the door,if it's instinctive she did it the moment the door slammed, she wouldn't pause for a second peering into the darkness, and as she did, the room suddenly filled with light. Rebecca gasped, and still coughing from the dust, she squinted as her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.see? You squint in the light... As she familiarised herself with her new surroundings, how? You haven't told us anything of what she sees, we have no idea. she unexpectedly remove 'unexpectedly'heard her name called in a voice she didn’t recognise. Telling...

‘Rebecca, where are you, where are you hiding today?’

She was positively uncertain about the voice, and apprehensively called out. remove this sentence, you're telling again, when her tentative response shows it sooo much better. ‘Mum... Is that you?’

Again, she heard the voice. Erm, that's pretty obvious, why are you telling us this?‘Who else did you think it would becomma my dear? Did I hear you coughing just now?’

Motionless, and still staring at the door, so how did she familiarise herself with the surroundings? Rebecca felt a shiver go down her spine. She blinked a couple of times and without moving her body, why? she peered from one side to the other. Feeling extremely uneasy, she turned slowly and to her astonishment, the curtains what curtains? were now drawn. The bright sunlight made it hard to focus, but as she squinted, she could see that bizarrely there was no sign of the thick dust. 'she could see no sign of the dust' you don't have to tell us it's bizarre, we understand that...As her eyes focussed a little more, she could see a large single bed with a white lace edged cover, two large tan, silky looking pillows, and a neatly placed, frilly green dress. Biting her top lip, she muttered, ‘This is very weird. This room suddenly looks new. Am I imagining this?’ Nope. She might think it, but she wouldn't say it, honest. Unless she was 'telling' again...Again, Rebecca frowned when did she frown last time? Why 'again'? as her eyes hurried around the room sounds like they left her eye-sockets... and settled on a small wooden desk. Making her way over to the desk, she heard her named called again. Telling again

‘Rebecca, are you talking to yourself again?’

This time the woman’s voice seemed close and although her tone was soothing and gentle, Rebecca did not know this voice. This would be fine to bring in the non-recognition of ther voice, but not as above.

She shivered, hesitated for a moment, and thought how very peculiar this was becoming. You don't need to tell us how very peculiar it is, we agree Just about to answer, she bit her bottom lip you like her biting her lip, don't you? Last time it was her top lip... as she remembered her mum was at the spa. Still unsure, she called out uneasily, ‘Mum, come and look at this room, it looks new, I don’t know what is going on. Mum, mum, where are you.’ Erm, leave out the 'mum, mum where are you?' bit. It sounds frantic, and anyway, she knows she's in the summerhouse, she's never been in there before, and she's commenting on a room? Needs reworking, Steve.

‘I am just coming, my dear. What do you mean it is delete 'is' insert 'looks' new? You know it is new,full stop after all, you helped decorate it.’

Suddenly she heard the door close what? It just slammed shut a moment ago! and was aware of someone standing behind her. Turning slowly, Rebecca took a sharp intake of breath. A slender, petite, very beautiful, dark haired oops, five adverbs in a row. woman was standing in the doorway. The woman was dressed in an ankle length, light brown skirt that had the appearance of some kind of hessian, a white frilly blouse, and a dark red and green shawl draped loosely around her shoulders.

‘Oh here you are my lovely, hiding in your new room again. Come oncomma lunch is almost ready. Then delete 'then' after, we must do our chores. We have responsibilities you know, we can’t stay here for free, and we are due at the stables soon.’

Rebecca trembled, breathing heavily, as she felt a succession of shivers go up and down her spine. She raised her eyes considering she's looking at the woman, she must now be looking at the ceiling...and wondered 'what is going on?' Her mind raced started racing, she glanced at the floor,why? Wouldn't she be riveted on the woman in front of her? then up at the woman, and thought, is this...? She shivered again and glanced at the hairs on her arm, nope, she felt the hairs on her arms raise, as she knew with a dreadful certainty that Meredith stood before her. She fainted. (Okay, maybe she didn't faint but she should...) And a few minutes ago, she was looking at photos of Meredith, wasn't she? knowing this was indeed Meredith.

And that's the nitpicky bit. I did the full works and it looks like I've been pretty severe. It's because you have a strong story and a good storytelling voice, but Steve, I feel you've just got to stop telling so much. You're great at showing straight after the telling, and it's so much more powerful when you do it. The reader will grasp pretty quickly that this is all unusual, you don't have to keep telling us, via Rebecca's thoughts or her 'wondering' (and that habit she has of talking to herself) what is unusual, what is frightening, what is creepy, and to a lesser extent, what is going on.

I have done everything you've done, in the past, (and continue to do it occasionally) because I am uncertain how much telling is right for the story, and how much I should take out; it took me some time to see it, but once I did, I believe my writing made a quantum leap, as I corrected it. I believe your writing will do the same, and you'll find it easier to write to edit and to advance your story.

I think I'm recognising in you the things that I did. Not sure if you read the 'finding a voice' thread (can't logoff here without losing what I've written) but writing in the 1st person, purely as an exercise, has helped me the most, and I've only done this recently. Your descriptive bits have all the right words, but very little passion, and the intrigue is hidden beneath Rebecca shivering/squinting/biting her lips/breathing abnormalities - all things which should add to the tension, but don't seem to as well as they could. Here's an example:

[QUOTE]
Rebecca felt a shiver go down her spine. She blinked a couple of times and without moving her body, she peered from one side to the other. Feeling extremely uneasy, she turned slowly and to her astonishment, the curtains were now drawn.

[/QUOTE]

You're trying to show Rebecca's tension/unease but the descriptive elements in the second sentence make the scene a bit mundane, and don't tell us if she's unable to move, paralysed with fear, or is imitating a robot - especially since she is moving her head (that's not part of the body is it?) So does this version add or detract tension?

Rebecca felt a shiver go down her spine. She turned. The curtains were now drawn.

Okay I'll forget that this is the first time we've learned there were curtains (and incidentally 'drawn' can mean open or closed), but to me, the reader is along with us on this journey, and the moment he heard Rebecca had a shiver down her spine, he knew summat was up, didn't need to be told she felt uneasy, or that she blinked, didn't move her body or peered slowly from side to side.

So, just for an exercise, I'll try and write that para from 1st person pov:

I felt suddenly cold and a chill ran down my spine. Something was wrong. I could barely move. Terrified of what I would see, I forced myself to turn. Oh my God! The curtains were drawn!

Now to me, what comes over is Rebecca's fear/tension/terror almost (and I accept I may have ramped it up a little, but I feel the scene needed it) whereas all that came over in the original version was: unease and astonishment. So if I now go back to 3rd person and concentrate on what I just wrote I might get something like:

A chill ran down Rebecca's spine. Was it colder? Something was wrong. She was rooted to the floor. She released a shakey breath, and forced herself to turn. The curtains were drawn!

What this exercise did, was to allow me to stop being the narrator and actually be Rebecca, and I think if you could do the same you would lose a lot of telling, and focus on your real strength, showing. Incidentally, the rooted to the floor and the shakey breath came about as I wrote it, because I wanted to bring over what I (as Rebecca) was feeling. Instead of looking down on her from a top corner of the room camera angle, I saw it from her eyes. And the shorter sentences are always good for increasing tension (Thanks, Judge!)

Anyway, I've gone on far longer than I intended, and I hope you've waded through it without nodding off. BTW I had no problem with your tenses at all, and the pace is just right. Keep at it Steve, there is a great story in here, and it's getting there, slowly - like all of us! I sincerely hope this helps and please note that the majority of it was nitpicking, I am really happy with the plot, and the way you're bringing it along.

Up the 'ammers!

 

[The Judge]

Another good critique from Boneman - he must have been taking lessons!

I agree with much of what he has said, Steve, though I'd have been a little less forgiving of repetition and over-use of adjectives and adverbs.

I won't nit pick anything, rather I'll concentrate on what I think are likely to be problems for you -- history, dialogue, and particularly historical dialogue.

I think I'm right in remembering that Meredith is from the 1840s or thereabouts? The thing is, with a long (presumably straight as Rebecca hasn't mentioned otherwise) skirt and frilly blouse, you've dressed her in Edwardian costume -- ie 70 years adrift. This kind of thing is terribly important. You need to know not only what was being worn, but by whom and when. The women of the house would wear different clothes for the day than for evening since they would dress for dinner (ie dress up) and in some eras they would have different clothes for morning and afternoon -- especially if visiting others was involved -- even if this only extended to antique lace collars or newer caps. The female servants undoubtedly would have much simpler clothes, though possibly a uniform if this is a grand house.

And even if Rebecca knew the word 'hessian' and what if looked like (and I can assure you my 16 year old niece would not have a clue) this is material more often used for sacking, or upholstery at best. The gardener might have hessian clothes, Meredith might have an apron made of it if she was an eccentric gardener; no one would have worn it as a skirt.

I don't know exactly where Meredith fits in the social structure, but if she and her daughter are living here I'd frankly be surprised if there was any thought of 'chores'. I see there's an element of their living off someone else, but even relatively poor middle class people had servants to do the hard work -- and if this is a big house, presumably whoever is subbing them would be paying the servant bill as well.

Incidentally, nothing sets my hackles on end more than an historical-type novel which plays fast and loose with legal history. I have no idea of Meredith's marital status, but if you intend to make her separated or, worse still, divorced, I shall be jumping up and down like a demented hell-hound.

As to dialogue, I'm afraid you have to work at this: I wasn't convinced by much of what Meredith said. It's as if you are attempting an upper middle class voice, but the accent is all over the place. For instance, simply the word 'mum' -- pre 20th century that would have been a working class term, even used in some instances as a slovenly way of saying 'ma'am' by servants. A middle class girl is more likely to have said 'mama'. So there is no way Meredith would simply accept her daughter's use of such an expression.

Without knowing a great deal about Meredith's background -- where she was born, the status of her parents, her education, her age -- I can't be dogmatic about phrases she would or would not use. But in Victorian times the middle and upper classes would speak better English than we do nowadays, and certainly one would expect to 'hear' an RP voice in this kind of situation, particularly from a woman. So, for instance, 'lunch' could well be 'luncheon'; 'Who else...' would be 'Whom else...'; 'you helped decorate it' would be 'you helped to decorate it'; 'we can't...' would be 'we cannot...'

You need to get inside Meredith to know how she will speak, but you also need to research a good bit more -- finding some good novels of the time will be an enormous benefit. I know you will have problems reading them, but I think the effort would pay great dividends in giving the historical parts of the novel reality and solidity.

J

 

[2ndchance]

Boneman, Judge and HB, thanks for your valuable input. I hope I have captured most of your thoughts and maintained my voice. I have a question with regard to dialogue. I read somewhere that it is a good idea to start an individual with their dialect/language variation, but you should then return to normal everyday English for the remainder of their part. Jane I have no doubt you have strong views on this. Jane, I hope you like the dress, just for you...

I hope it is not too boring having to read this all again, sorry. This is my third edit and compared with the nth attempts I have had to apply to the preceding chapters. I feel I must be getting somewhere, coz’ I think this ain’t ‘alf bad.

Steve

Rebecca stuffed in the last bite of her sandwich – she knew it was too much for one mouthful, ‘but hey, no one here to moan,’ she thought. She locked the front door and wondered where to look for the old nameplate that she believed might help unravel some of the mystery around this old house. As she sauntered down the path towards the lake, she remembered the old stables behind the elm trees and having half an idea she might find something, took the path to her right. She hadn’t been to the old stables before but thought it was at least worth a look.

Standing by a bramble covered wooden door at the front of the ramshackle stables, she realised she would need an alternative way in and made her way along each of the three equally inaccessible doors. She then propped a few bricks against the wall next to the last door and peered through a broken window, spotting a possible way in at the rear. Watchfully, she made her way round the back of the dilapidated building and carefully clambered over the remains of a broken down wall. Surveying the knee-high grass and twisted brambles, she realised this search might prove a little trickier than she’d initially thought. Looking around, she spotted a piece of wood propped up against some fallen bricks and carefully waded her way through the grass. Clearing away a few nettles, she picked up the piece of wood, and turned it optimistically, thinking it was certainly the right size. Then with a small piece of broken roof tile, she carefully scraped at the grubby, rotting piece of wood, examining it attentively, but it soon became clear that it was just an old piece of wood.

She continued searching the old stables, finding only the odd piece of decayed wood or broken roof tile. Just as she was about to give up and leave, she spotted something in the far corner poking out from the straw-like grass. She didn’t know why, but she had an odd feeling about this and strangely focussed on what looked like just an old rusty piece of metal, she clambered recklessly over fallen bricks and bramble. She nearly fell when she spotted the curved corners and splattering of green paint. ‘Looks interesting,’ she thought, as she got closer. She bent down avoiding some more nettles, and pulled at the piece of metal, until finally, it lifted free. Eagerly, she turned it over, and rubbing carefully with her hanky, revealed the name, Nadine. Sounds like a horse-name, she thought. Using her hanky and a bit of spit this time, she rubbed away most of the dirt and decided it would be a good idea to google the name on her computer, although she was doubtful it was the house-name she’d been so eager to find.

Heading back up to the main house, she carefully placed the nameplate just inside the front door. Then, as per usual, greeted the two ladies in the hallway paintings, and headed upstairs to her computer. Half way up, she paused, as her thoughts unexpectedly returned to the summerhouse. Once again, she was getting that same odd vibe she’d had so often. So changing her plans, she decided to leave the nameplate search until later, and instead go to investigate the strange drawing feeling.

She hesitated for a second, knowing her mum would probably be cross if she went to the summerhouse alone, but as always, her inquisitive zest took over, and so she hurried back outside, and down the path.

Arriving at the summerhouse, she went straight to the door to the darker room. She looked inside, and it was still empty, but then she’d rather expected it would be, so turned to the other room. Rummaging about, she looked through the old photos for a while, still wondering what was calling her. She stood for a couple more minutes, mulling over the picture of Meredith. Suddenly, that odd shivery feeling she’d felt every time she entered this building went down her spine, stronger this. Now convinced something, or someone, was calling her, she turned swiftly, certain she’d find the answers she so desperately sought behind that damn locked door.

She stood by the door, took a deep breath, and tried the handle. As usual, nothing, it didn’t budge, not even a creak. She hadn’t a clue why, but for some odd reason, she was sure the door would open today, so still breathing deeply, tried again. Again, nothing. She stood back, pushed hard on the handle, and thought, ‘come on, let me in,’ this time the handle turned easily. She blinked a few times, shaking her head, wondering if Meredith had somehow, then thought, ‘na,’ and laughed, realising that was stupid idea.

She stood back a step and pulled the door toward her, and although it moved slightly, it failed to open. She looked at the doorframe for a few seconds, and then realised she should be pushing the door inwards. Leaning her shoulder to the door, it creaked a little, and then suddenly opened easily, revealing a dark dingy room. Wide eyed, allowing time for her eyes to adjust she stood there, mouth open. She quickly focussed on what appeared to be a spiral staircase. Sherubbed her eyes, carefully entered through the narrow doorway, and instantly noticed the bottom of the stairs was on the other side of this tiny room. With just enough space to move, she eased her way between the wall andthe metal banister. As she brushed past the rail, a cloud of thick dust filled the air. She felt more than a little spooked, realising she was the first visitor this room had seen for many, many years.

Wavering at the bottom of the stairs, she put her hand on the cold rail, peered up into the darkness, glanced down at the first step, up again, and wondered.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her foot on the step, and carefully probed what she suspected was a deep, spongy covering of dust, until it felt firm under foot. She stood firmly on the step with both feet, which made a heavy clunky sound that echoed around the stairwell, making her question just how far up these stairs could go. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, as she edged her way up the stairs. Soon she arrived by a small door, and feeling in the dark, her fingers eventually settled on the tiny cold handle. She twisted it back and forth several times, and although it moved freely, the door failed to open. Feeling a little uneasy, but sure she was doing the right thing, she wondered if there might be further doors.

She continued slowly to edge her way up the narrowing stairs until she arrived at a second door. ‘Derrr,’ she muttered as she remembered her trusty torch attached to the inside of her jacket. Flicking on the switch, she noticed the door had a tiny window.With just enough room, she widened the beam on her torch and shone it through the window. She was surprised that even with her torch on wide-beam the room still appeared pitch-black. Pausing for a second, she was sure one of these doors would open, and so slowly turned the handle. Feeling it click once, she gasped as the handle pulled from her grip and the door opened inwards, seemingly on its own. As her mind raced, she stood trying to regain her composure. Unexpectedly her torch flicked briefly, went off, leaving her again in darkness. Holding, what she believed was the inside the doorframe for steadiness, she widened her eyes, trying to focus. Fumbling in the dark, she shook her torch, flicked the switch several times, and muttered, ‘Bet Tom’s been messing with this, twit.’

She stood there for a couple of moments, gradually adjusting to the darkness. Eventually her eyes settled on the far side of the room, where she could just make out what she thought looked like a window. She entered the room; slowly at first, allowing her eyes more time to adjust. The floor felt again felt spongy under foot, and mindful of the dust she’d disturbed earlier, she moved forward, deliberately treading as soft as she could. Half way across the room, she tripped on something, stumbled, landing on the floor with a thud, filling the room with a thick cloud of dust. Coughing, she spluttered, groping around in the dark as she tried to regain her breath and her bearings. With one hand over her mouth, she cautiously made her way towards what she hoped was a window. Suddenly, she heard the door slam, and as she turned, the room inexplicably filled with light. Frozen to the spot, she flicked her eyelids continually, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness.

‘Rebecca.’

Startled, she thought, ‘who’s calling me.’

‘Rebecca.’

‘Mumm... Is that you?’

‘Whom did you expect, my dear? Did I hear you coughing, and why are you referring to me as mum, it is mother, as well you know.’

‘That’s a point, coughing,’ she thought, ‘all the dust gone, odd.’

Confused, slowly, she released a nervous breath, and forced herself to turn. Adding to her bewilderment, the windows were now wide open and the bright sunlight made it almost impossible to see. As she gradually focused, in front of her, she could see a large single bed with a white lace edged cover, two large tan silky looking pillows, and a long green dress, neatly placed on the edge of the bed. Next to the bed was a small wooden desk with what looked like a pile of papers. She muttered, ‘aha, that’ll help,’ but before she’d reached the desk, she heard the voice again, much closer this time.

‘Rebecca, can I hear you talking to yourself, again?’

The woman’s tone was soothing and gentle, and although Rebecca doubted this was her mother, she still wasn’t sure. She called out uneasily, ‘I don’t get it. This room, it’s new. Mother...’

‘I am just coming, my dear. What do you mean, the room is new?’

Suddenly she heard the door open and was aware of someone standing behind her. Turning slowly, Rebecca took a sharp intake of breath. A petite, dark haired woman was standing with her back to her, attending a small cupboard just inside the doorway. Rebecca had researched Victorian clothing for a project at school and instantly recognised this woman’s clothing. She was dressed in a dark green full skirt, attached to a pleated bodice via a separate waistband. As the woman turned Rebecca’s eyes focussed on the plunging V neckline, her chest covered by a small cream chemisette. She was reasonably sure this woman’s clothes dated to the mid-eighteen hundreds and wondered what on earth was happening.

‘Come along Rebecca, luncheon is almost ready, and after, we must tend the stables in preparation for tomorrow’s hunt. Now please put on your dandy green dress and join me downstairs.’

Rebecca trembled as her eyes focussed on the woman’s face. Already disoriented, her emotions compounded and breathing heavily, she felt a succession of shivers go up and down her spine. Staring intently at the woman’s face, she realised this was Meredith, but she also knew it couldn’t be.

 

[2ndchance]

Sorry, sorry, I don’t know what’s happened. I have read this piece at least 7,436 times. Today I read it and I saw it differently. I can’t say what, why, or how, but I do know I had to make these minor, but significant changes. Hmmm, maybe its still crap, I am sure you’ll let me know, but to me it just reads – finally – as it should. Can you smell her breath? I can.

Steve

Rebecca stuffed in the last bite of her sandwich – she knew it was too much for one mouthful, ‘but hey, no one here to moan,’ she thought. She locked the front door and wondered where to look for the old nameplate, the one she believed might go someway towards unravelling the mystery of this old house. As she sauntered down the path towards the lake, she remembered the old stables behind the elm trees, and having half an idea she might find something, took the path to her right.

She hadn’t been to the old stables before but some odd reason, the moment she’d thought of the stables, she’d convinced herself it was at least worth a look.

Standing by a bramble covered wooden door at the front of the ramshackle stables, she realised she would need an alternative way in and made her way along each of the three equally inaccessible doors. She then propped a few bricks against the wall next to the last door, peered through a broken window, and spotted a possible way in at the rear. Making her way round the back of the dilapidated building, she clambered over the remains of a broken down wall and found herself standing in knee-high grass, with the remains of last years twisted brambles clinging to her jeans. Surveying her surroundings, she quickly realised her search might prove a little trickier than she’d initially thought. Spotting a piece of wood propped up against some fallen bricks, she waded her way through the grass. Clearing away a few nettles, she picked up the piece of wood, and turned it optimistically, thinking it was certainly the right size. Then with a small piece of broken roof tile, she carefully scraped at the grubby, rotting piece of wood, examining it attentively. Her hopes were short lived when she realised it was just an old piece of wood.

She continued searching the old stables, finding only the odd piece of decayed wood or broken roof tile. Just as she was about to give up and leave, she spotted something in the far corner poking out from the straw-like grass. She didn’t know why, but she had an odd feeling about this. Strangely focussed on what looked like just an old rusty piece of metal, she clambered recklessly over fallen bricks and bramble, and not looking were she was treading, nearly fell as she spotted the curved corners and splattering of green paint.

‘Looks interesting,’ she thought, as she got closer.

She bent down, avoiding some more nettles, and pulled at the piece of metal, until finally, it lifted free. Eagerly, she turned it over, and rubbing carefully with her hanky, revealed the name, Nadine. Sounds like a horse-name, she thought. Using her hanky, with a bit of spit this time, she rubbed away most of the dirt and decided it would be a good idea to google the name on her computer – even though she was doubtful it was the house-name.

Heading back up to the main house, she carefully placed the nameplate just inside the front door. Then, as per usual, greeted the two ladies in the hallway paintings, and headed upstairs to her computer. Half way up, she paused, as her thoughts unexpectedly returned to the summerhouse. Once again, she was getting that peculiar odd vibe she’d had so often. So changing her plans, she decided to leave the nameplate search until later, and instead go to investigate her strange feelings.

She hesitated for a second, knowing her mum would probably be cross if she went to the summerhouse alone, but as always, her inquisitive zest took over, and so hurried back outside, and down the path.

Arriving at the summerhouse, she went straight to the darker room. She glanced through the door and as before, the room was still empty – but then she’d rather expected it would be. Rummaging about in the other room, she looked through the old photos for a while, still wondering what was calling her. She stood for a couple more minutes, mulling over the picture of Meredith. Suddenly, that odd shivery feeling that she’d felt every time she entered this building passed through her body. This time the feeling was so much more intense, and now convinced something, or someone was calling her, she turned swiftly, certain she’d find the answers she so desperately sought hidden behind that damn locked door.

Standing by the door, she took a deep breath, and tried the handle. As usual, nothing, it didn’t budge, not even a creak. She hadn’t a clue why, but for some reason, she was sure the door would open today, so still breathing deeply, tried again. Again, nothing. She stood back, pushed hard on the handle, and thought, ‘come on, let me in.’ This time the handle turned easily. Feeling somewhat peculiar, she blinked a few times, wondering if Meredith had somehow, then thought, ‘na,’ and shaking her head, laughed, realising that was stupid idea.

She stood back a step, pulled the door towards her, and although it moved slightly, it failed to open. She looked at the doorframe for a few seconds, and realised she should be pushing the stupid door instead of pulling it. Leaning her shoulder to the door, it creaked a little, and then suddenly opened easily, revealing a dark dingy room. Wide eyed, allowing a moment for her eyes to adjust, she stood there, mouth open. Now focussed on what appeared to be a spiral staircase, sherubbed her eyes, carefully entered through the narrow doorway, and realised the bottom of the stairs were on the other side of this tiny room. With just enough space to move, she eased her way between the wall andthe metal banister. As she brushed past the rail, a cloud of thick dust filled the air, spooking her a little as she realised she was probably the first visitor this room had seen for many, many years.

Wavering at the bottom of the stairs, she put her hand on the cold rail, peered up into the darkness, glanced down at the first step, up again, and wondered.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her foot on the step, and carefully probed – what she suspected was a spongy covering of dust – until it felt firm under foot. With both feet, she stood purposefully on the step, causing a heavy clunky sound that echoed around the stairwell, making her question just how far up these stairs went. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, as she edged her way up the stairs. Soon, she arrived by a small door, and feeling in the dark, her fingers eventually settled on the tiny cold handle. She twisted it back and forth several times, and although it moved freely, the door failed to open. Feeling a little uneasy, but sure she was doing the right thing, she wondered if there might be another door further up.

She continued slowly to edge her way up the narrowing stairs until she arrived at a second door.

‘Derrr,’ she muttered as she remembered her trusty torch attached to the inside of her jacket.

Flicking the switch, she noticed the door had a tiny window, andwith just enough room, she shone her torch through the window. She was surprised that even with her torch on wide-beam the room still appeared pitch-black. Pausing for a second, she was sure one of these doors would open, and so slowly turned the handle. Feeling it click once, she gasped as the handle pulled from her grip and the door opened inwards, seemingly on its own. As her mind raced, she stood trying to regain her composure. Unexpectedly her torch flickered briefly, and then went off, leaving her again in darkness. Holding the inside the doorframe for steadiness, she widened her eyes, trying to focus. Fumbling in the dark, she shook her torch, flicked the switch several times, and muttered, ‘Bet Tom’s been messing with this, twit.’

She stood there for a couple of moments, gradually adjusting to the darkness. Eventually her eyes settled on the far side of the room, and what she thought, hoped, was a window. She entered the room – slowly at first – allowing her eyes more time to adjust. The floor again felt spongy under foot, and mindful of the dust she’d disturbed earlier, she moved forward, deliberately treading softly. Half way across the room, she tripped on something, stumbled, and landed on the floor with a thud, filling the room with a thick cloud of dust. Coughing, she spluttered, groping around in the dark as she tried to regain her breath and her bearings. With one hand over her mouth, she cautiously made her way towards the window. Suddenly, she heard the door slam, and as she turned, the room filled with light. Frozen to the spot, she flicked her eyelids continually, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness.

‘Rebecca.’

Startled, she thought, ‘who’s calling me.’

‘Rebecca.’

‘Mumm... Is that you?’

‘Whom did you expect, my dear? Did I hear you coughing, and why, young lady, do you refer to me as mum?’

‘That’s a point, “coughing,”’ she thought, ‘all the dust gone, odd.’

She released a nervous breath, and forced herself to turn. The windows were now wide open and the bright sunlight made it almost impossible for her to see. As she gradually focused, she could see a large single bed with a white lace edged cover, two large tan silky looking pillows, and a long green dress, neatly placed on the edge of the bed. Next to the bed was a small wooden desk with what appeared to be a pile of papers. She muttered, ‘aha, that’ll help,’ but before she’d reached the desk, she heard the voice again, much closer this time.

‘Rebecca, are you talking to yourself, again?’

The woman’s tone was soothing and gentle, and although Rebecca doubted this was her mum, she just wasn’t sure, and so called out uneasily, ‘This room, it’s new. Mother...’

‘I am just coming, my dear. What do you mean, the room is new?’

Suddenly she heard the door open and was aware of someone standing behind her. Turning slowly, Rebecca took a sharp intake of breath. A petite, dark haired woman was standing with her back to her, attending a small cupboard just inside the doorway. Rebecca had researched Victorian dress for a project at school and instantly recognised this woman’s clothing. She was wearing a dark green full skirt. She also wore a pleated bodice, seemingly attached to the skirt via a separate waistband. As the woman turned Rebecca’s eyes focussed on the plunging V neckline covered by a small cream chemisette. Raking her brains, Rebecca was reasonably sure this woman’s clothes dated her to the mid-eighteen hundreds. Suddenly realised she was staring at the woman, wondering what was happening and so consciously averted her eyes.

‘Come along Rebecca, luncheon is almost ready, and after, we must tend the stables in preparation for tomorrow’s hunt. Now please put on your dandy green dress and join me downstairs.’

Rebecca trembled, as she again stared intently at the woman’s face. She knew this was Meredith – but it can’t be, she thought.

 

[MistingWolf]

Please don't say things like "maybe it's still crap" because not very many people want to read a work that even the author doesn't think is good enough to be read. You're a great writer, so have confidence!

are you writing for the American Market? They say 'toward' we Brits say 'towards'

I, an American, actually switch between the two, depending on how I'm writing. ^^; If I'm in a past-tense sentence [anything with -ed], I use "toward" ["he moved toward the painting"]. If I'm in a present-tense sentence [anything with -ing], I will use "towards" ["she began shifting towards the exit"]. Very strange, and probably not grammatically correct, but someday I'll straighten myself out. Maybe.

Anyway, on to the critiquing.
Editing note:
Green = Add
Blue = Change
Red = Remove
Moving on through this editing, I noticed that the hyphens and other small things in green are hard to see, so they'll be typed it out. Words will be emboldened, punctuation will not be.

Rebecca stuffed in the last bite of her sandwich

Still, stuffed in where? "Rebecca stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth" would make more sense.

half an idea

I've never really heard this expression before. I've heard "half a mind", though it's not quite what you need, as the expression is:
Half a mind
If you have half a mind to do something, you haven't decided to do it, but are thinking seriously about doing it. [referenced: http://www.usingenglish.com/reference/idioms/h.html ]

She hadn’t been to the old stables before but some odd reason, the moment she’d thought of the stables, she’d convinced herself it was at least worth a look.

I would suggest: She hadn’t been to the old stables before but for some odd reason, the moment she’d thought of the stables, she’d convinced herself it was at least worth a look.

bramble-covered

This should be a compound word, so just add the hyphen.

Standing by a bramble[hyphen]covered wooden door at the front of the ramshackle stables, she realised she would need an alternative way in and made her way along each of the three equally inaccessible doors. She then propped a few bricks against the wall next to the last door, peered through a broken window, and spotted a possible way in at the rear. Making her way round the back of the dilapidated building, she clambered over the remains of a broken[hyphen]down [I see there are quite a few hyphens so far, so I might suggest changing "broken-down" to "shabby" or something else] wall and found herself standing in knee-high grass, with the remains of last year[apostrophe]s twisted brambles clinging to her jeans. [Okay, now as I have read so far, Rebecca is a bit of a tomboy, but even I, a fellow tomboy, would brush away the brambles. She never does, so I'm assuming they're sticking to her throughout the rest of the story, and Meredith would positively frown upon seeing her disheveled self after her exploring through the dust, grime, and outdoors.] Surveying her surroundings, she quickly realised her search might prove a little trickier than she’d initially thought. Spotting a piece of wood propped up against some fallen bricks, she waded her way through the grass. Clearing away a few nettles...

Aside from my in-text edits, you can see from my underlining that there are far too many "way"s going on here. I would suggest stirring things up a bit with different phrases, such as "...she would need an alternative way in and moved along to find that each of the three other doors were equally inaccessible." I changed other aspects of this sentence because as it stood, it seemed awkward.

Strangely focussed on

Only one 's' in "focused" as far as I know, but maybe it has two in the United Kingdom.

‘Looks interesting,’ she thought, as she got closer.

She bent down, avoiding some more nettles, and pulled at the piece of metal, until finally, it lifted free. Eagerly, she turned it over, and rubbing carefully with her hanky, revealed the name, Nadine.

There are a lot of commas here and a small issue of tense in both sentences, going from bent [which is past-tense] to avoiding, and turned to rubbing and back to revealed. It's not so bad if you're switching between one sentence, one paragraph, or even a chapter, but mid-sentence is a little odd. Also, I really paused and thought "Hanky? Seriously?" Handkerchiefs aren't used often here in the US unless by the older gentlemen, but I really found the nickname "hanky" to bee a little strange. I don't know if they're commonplace in the UK [so forgive my naivete] but unless it's commonplace there, I would change it to either the full word or have her use the bottom part of her shirt. Anywho, my full change for this sentence would be: "She avoided more nettles as she bent down and pulled at the piece of metal until it finally lifted free. Eagerly, she turned it over and rubbed carefully with her handkerchief and revealed a name: Nadine."

As usual, nothing[semicolon] it didn’t budge, not even a creak

tried once more [this I changed because of the two "again"s right next to each other]. Again, nothing. She stood back, pushed hard on the handle, and thought, ‘Come on, let me in.’ This time the handle turned easily. Feeling somewhat peculiar, she blinked a few times, wondering if Meredith had somehow [somehow what?], then thought, ‘Na*,’ and[comma] shaking her head, laughed, realising that was a stupid idea.

*Usually, the kind of "na" you're looking for would be spelled "nah".

Taking a deep breath, she placed her foot on the step, and carefully probed – what she suspected was a spongy covering of dust – until it felt firm under foot.

She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, as she edged her way up the stairs

‘Bet Tom’s been messing with this, twit.’

As this sentence is, it seems like she's calling herself a twit. But if you put in a full stop instead of that comma, it'll sound more like she's calling Tom a twit instead.

Startled, she thought, ‘Who’s calling me?’

Did I hear you coughing? And why, young lady, do you refer to me as mum?

Racking her brains

She knew this was Meredith. But it can’t be!she thought.

Overall, a great start! Though the end is slightly askew, I think. Why doesn't Meredith wonder about Rebecca's modern clothing? Does she only see what she is "supposed" to see, or did Rebecca's clothing somehow magically change with the time? The concept would, I think, be somewhat feasible since you've already got time-travel going here.

 

[The Judge]

Steve, I don't have the time to do a proper critique, but I wanted to comment quickly.

Firstly, it is to my mind much improved on the first version here, and a great improvement on your earlier chapters. Well done.

You've reined in your adjectives and adverbs, so that's good. But as MistingWolf points out with the 'way's, there is still a great deal of repetition of words which you need to watch. Try reading your work out loud, and it might help you catch more of them.

The dialogue is better, as well. I think, though, you need to work further on the description of Meredith's clothes. You've clearly done some research and by heaven you are going to shoehorn it in to the text! But what would Rebecca think? Unless she is acutely conscious of clothing, isn't she more likely just to think something like 'funny, old fashioned clothes' or if she is a little more knowledgeable, 'big crinoline-like skirt' (too lazy to find out exactly when crinolines came in). I know it is important that we realise at once that this woman is dressed differently from the way Rebecca is, but I don't think you need to go to town with details here - it doesn't serve to retain the tension. Since Rebecca has seen the portrait of Meredith before, you can go into detail about clothing at that stage. Indeed, you could have R do some research about clothing in an attempt to date the portrait, perhaps.

One other point about MistingWolf's critique. I don't see any problem with your use of the continuous past mixed up with simple past ie in She bent down, avoiding some more nettles, and pulled at the piece of metal. I have seen others refer to this a a 'change of tense' but to my mind it's perfectly acceptable. (It would be otherwise if you were indeed changing tense from past to present, of course.) Indeed, in my view it's smoother and less boring than repeated use of [verb]-ed. Whether this is a US-UK split I don't know. 'Hanky' of course is a Britism, though I'd spell it 'hankie' I think, and 'half an idea' probably is as well, since it made sense to me.

Hope this helps

J

 

[FionaW]

Whew!

(wanders in, blinking, some two months and 110,000 words later)

The old place hasn't changed much...

Anyway, I should be making a bit more critiquing effort, so I'll throw my hat in the ring. I've picked up your last edited version (I hope).

My general impression is that you are telling the story at one remove, which isn't generally what you see in the current market. Lots of 'she thought' and 'she realised' type of description, which puts the writer between the reader and the character.

Red - remove.
Blue - repeated words/phrases that you might want to change

Rebecca stuffed in the last bite of her sandwich – she knew it was too much for one mouthful, ‘but hey, no one here to moan,’ she thought. She locked the front door and wondered where to look for the old nameplate, the one she believed might go someway towards unravelling the mystery of this old house. As she sauntered down the path towards the lake, she remembered the old stables behind the elm trees, and having half an idea she might find something, took the path to her right.

Here's a suggested rewrite, putting the reader in Rebecca's head:

Rebecca knew the last bite of her sandwich was too much for one mouthful, but stuffed it in anyway. There was no one here to moan at her. Where should she look for the old nameplate, the one that might go someway towards unravelling the mystery of the old house? She locked the front door and sauntered down the path towards the lake. Maybe it could have been thrown in the old stables, behind the elm trees. Having half an idea she might find something there, she took the path to her right.

She hadn’t been to the old stables before but some odd reason [this is a cop out. say what the reason is] , the moment she’d thought of the stables, she’d convinced herself it was at least worth a look.

Standing by a bramble covered wooden door at the front of the ramshackle stables, she realised she would need an alternative way in and made her way along each of the three equally inaccessible doors. She then propped a few bricks against the wall next to the last door, peered through a broken window, and spotted a possible way in at the rear. Making her way round the back of the dilapidated building, she clambered over the remains of a broken down wall and found herself standing in knee-high grass, with the remains of last years twisted brambles clinging to her jeans. Surveying her surroundings, she quickly realised her search might prove a little trickier than she’d initially thought. Spotting a piece of wood propped up against some fallen bricks, she waded her way through the grass. Clearing away a few nettles, she picked up the piece of wood, and turned it optimistically, thinking it was certainly the right size. Then with a small piece of broken roof tile, she carefully scraped at the grubby, rotting piece of wood, examining it attentively. Her hopes were short lived when she realised it was just an old piece of wood.

She continued searching the old stables, finding only the odd piece of decayed wood or broken roof tile. Just as she was about to give up and leave, she spotted something in the far corner poking out from the straw-like grass. She didn’t know why, but she had an odd feeling about this [this is another cop out]. Strangely focussed [don't get this phrase] on what looked like just an old rusty piece of metal, she clambered recklessly over fallen bricks and bramble, and not looking were she was treading, nearly fell as she spotted the curved corners and splattering of green paint.

‘Looks interesting,’ she thought, as she got closer.

She bent down, avoiding some more nettles, and pulled at the piece of metal, until finally, it lifted free. Eagerly, she turned it over, and rubbing carefully with her hanky, revealed the name, Nadine. Sounds like a horse-name, she thought. Using her hanky, with a bit of spit this time, she rubbed away most of the dirt and decided it would be a good idea to google the name on her computer – even though she was doubtful it was the house-name.

Heading back up to the main house, she carefully placed the nameplate just inside the front door. Then, as per usual, greeted the two ladies in the hallway paintings, and headed upstairs to her computer. Half way up, she paused, as her thoughts unexpectedly returned to the summerhouse. Once again, she was getting that peculiar odd vibe she’d had so often. So changing her plans, she decided to leave the nameplate search until later, and instead go to investigate her strange feelings. ['strange feelings' is too generic. you need to decide exactly what it is she feels. Also, the pacing feels a bit rushed - she goes out, makes a small discovery, goes to the house, changes her mind, goes out and makes a bigger discovery. I would expand this paragraph. Let's see the ladies, get a bit of a feel for who Rebecca is, and for her situation. The reader knows you're building towards something; trust them to follow you.]

She hesitated for a second, knowing her mum would probably be cross if she went to the summerhouse alone, but as always, her inquisitive zest [show this, don't tell it] took over, and so hurried back outside, and down the path.

Arriving at the summerhouse, she went straight to the darker room. She glanced through the door and as before, the room was still empty – but then she’d rather expected it would be. Rummaging about in the other room, she looked through the old photos for a while, still wondering what was calling her. She stood for a couple more minutes, mulling over the picture of Meredith. Suddenly, that odd shivery feeling that she’d felt every time she entered this building passed through her body. This time the feeling was so much more intense, and now convinced something, or someone was calling her, she turned swiftly, certain she’d find the answers she so desperately sought hidden behind that damn locked door.

Standing by the door, she took a deep breath, and tried the handle. As usual, nothing, it didn’t budge, not even a creak. She hadn’t a clue why, but for some reason, she was sure the door would open today, so still breathing deeply, tried again. Again, nothing. She stood back, pushed hard on the handle, and thought, ‘come on, let me in.’ This time the handle turned easily. Feeling somewhat peculiar, she blinked a few times, wondering if Meredith had somehow, [is there a word missing here?] then thought, ‘na,’ and shaking her head, laughed, realising that was stupid idea.

She stood back a step, pulled the door towards her, and although it moved slightly, it failed to open. She looked at the doorframe for a few seconds, and realised she should be pushing the stupid door instead of pulling it. Leaning her shoulder to the door, it creaked a little, and then suddenly opened easily, revealing a dark dingy room. Wide eyed, allowing a moment for her eyes to adjust, she stood there, mouth open. Now focussed on what appeared to be a spiral staircase, sherubbed her eyes, carefully entered through the narrow doorway, and realised the bottom of the stairs were on the other side of this tiny room. With just enough space to move, she eased her way between the wall andthe metal banister. As she brushed past the rail, a cloud of thick dust filled the air, spooking her a little as she realised she was probably the first visitor this room had seen for many, many years.

Wavering at the bottom of the stairs, she put her hand on the cold rail, peered up into the darkness, glanced down at the first step, up again, and wondered.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her foot on the step, and carefully probed – what she suspected was a spongy covering of dust – until it felt firm under foot. With both feet, she stood purposefully on the step, causing a heavy clunky sound that echoed around the stairwell, making her question just how far up these stairs went. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, as she edged her way up the stairs. Soon, she arrived by a small door, and feeling in the dark, her fingers eventually settled on the tiny cold handle. She twisted it back and forth several times, and although it moved freely, the door failed to open. Feeling a little uneasy, but sure she was doing the right thing, she wondered if there might be another door further up.

She continued slowly to edge [this is a tautology] her way up the narrowing stairs until she arrived at a second door.

‘Derrr,’ she muttered as she remembered her trusty torch attached to the inside of her jacket.

Flicking the switch, she noticed the door had a tiny window, andwith just enough room, she shone her torch through the window. She was surprised that even with her torch on wide-beam the room still appeared pitch-black. Pausing for a second, she was sure one of these doors would open, and so slowly turned the handle. Feeling it click once, she gasped as the handle pulled from her grip and the door opened inwards, seemingly on its own. As her mind raced, she stood trying to regain her composure. Unexpectedly her torch flickered briefly, and then went off, leaving her again in darkness. Holding the inside the doorframe for steadiness, she widened her eyes, trying to focus. Fumbling in the dark, she shook her torch, flicked the switch several times, and muttered, ‘Bet Tom’s been messing with this, twit.’

She stood there for a couple of moments, gradually adjusting to the darkness. Eventually her eyes settled on the far side of the room, and what she thought, hoped, was a window. She entered the room – slowly at first – allowing her eyes more time to adjust. The floor again felt spongy under foot, and mindful of the dust she’d disturbed earlier, she moved forward, deliberately treading softly. Half way across the room, she tripped on something, stumbled, and landed on the floor with a thud, filling the room with a thick cloud of dust. Coughing, she spluttered, groping around in the dark as she tried to regain her breath and her bearings. With one hand over her mouth, she cautiously made her way towards the window. Suddenly, she heard the door slam, and as she turned, the room filled with light. Frozen to the spot, she flicked her eyelids continually, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness.

‘Rebecca.’

Startled, she thought, ‘who’s calling me.’

‘Rebecca.’

‘Mumm... Is that you?’

‘Whom did you expect, my dear? Did I hear you coughing, and why, young lady, do you refer to me as mum?’

‘That’s a point, “coughing,”’ she thought, ‘all the dust gone, odd.’

She released a nervous breath, and forced herself to turn. The windows were now wide open and the bright sunlight made it almost impossible for her to see. As she gradually focused, she could see a large single bed with a white lace edged cover, two large tan silky looking pillows, and a long green dress, neatly placed on the edge of the bed. Next to the bed was a small wooden desk with what appeared to be a pile of papers. She muttered, ‘aha, that’ll help,’ but before she’d reached the desk, she heard the voice again, much closer this time.

‘Rebecca, are you talking to yourself, again?’

The woman’s tone was soothing and gentle, and although Rebecca doubted this was her mum, she just wasn’t sure, and so called out uneasily, ‘This room, it’s new. Mother...’

‘I am just coming, my dear. What do you mean, the room is new?’

Suddenly she heard the door open and was aware of someone standing behind her. Turning slowly, Rebecca took a sharp intake of breath. A petite, dark haired woman was standing with her back to her, attending a small cupboard just inside the doorway. Rebecca had researched Victorian dress for a project at school and instantly recognised this woman’s clothing. She was wearing a dark green full skirt. She also wore a pleated bodice, seemingly attached to the skirt via a separate waistband. As the woman turned Rebecca’s eyes focussed on the plunging V neckline covered by a small cream chemisette. Raking her brains, Rebecca was reasonably sure this woman’s clothes dated her to the mid-eighteen hundreds. Suddenly realised she was staring at the woman, wondering what was happening and so consciously averted her eyes.

‘Come along Rebecca, luncheon is almost ready, and after, we must tend the stables in preparation for tomorrow’s hunt. Now please put on your dandy green dress and join me downstairs.’

Rebecca trembled, as she again stared intently at the woman’s face. She knew this was Meredith – but it can’t be, she thought.

I hope some of this is useful. The dialogue does seem to be a bit splat!, but I think that's partly because the narrative is so distanced. If you move into Rebecca's head a bit more, the transition won't be so jarring.

F.

 

[2ndchance]

Thank you all so much. Taking my hanky and wiping the tears away. I agree with most of your suggestions, some comments made me feel stupid, the number of ways... etc.

I think I have moved a long way in the last couple of months (mostly down to your help) and this will come on leaps and bounds now that I've just been offered an early retirment deal, which means at 52 I can sit on me bum and write, YIPPIE> You realise that will mean a lot more of me on here (I can hear you)...

Right, write. I will take what I need, edit, park it and pitch a new bit, soon ish, perhaps. Its hard, taking the bullets so often, but I know I need your help, for now, he-he.

The question is, when they make it into a film, who wants to play Bex and who wants to be Meredith??

Steve

 

[2ndchance]

BTW J, great point about the cloathes, I will take you advise and dump the detail, never had it in the first place and only added it in for you my dear>>>
Steve

 

[Peter Graham]

Hi Steve,

The good news is that every re-write is better than the last, so be in no doubt that you are getting somewhere.

It does still need more work. I think there is too much info-dumping in places (the description of Meredith's clothes is a case in point, as Her Honour has already pointed out) and I also have some difficulty in suspending disbelief at times. Victorian summerhouses, for example, are generally one room affairs with nice, pointy roofs and lots of windows. OK, no one is saying that you need specific architectural knowledge, but the idea that a summerhouse would have a darkened room completely defeats the whole purpose of such a structure.

Oh - and if the house is still up in these parts, it'd have slates rather than tiles on the roof. They'd be thick and have either a blue or a green sheen depending where they came from (but not a black one).

My main beef at present is your word choice and sentence structure. The pace is good, but all too often the phrasing is clumsy and it can make the piece hard to follow. I know you have dyslexia, so I wonder whether you should ditch the rather formal narrative voice (I think you think you have to express yourself in a 'writerly' way) and just use your own voice.

By way of an example:-

Then with a small piece of broken roof tile, she carefully scraped at the grubby, rotting piece of wood, examining it attentively.

I bet you don't talk like this. I bet that in real life you would say something like:-

"She picked up a bit of broken roof tile and scraped at the rotting piece of wood. She peered at the wood as the mud and the moss fell off....."

I think that you should start writing sentences as you would say them. Think about what you want the sentence to say and then put it into the words you would use if talking to someone who you don't know very well but who you think might be alright. Then lose any slang or dialogue and what you are left with is likely to be a clear, no-frills, strong narrative voice. And strong is what you want. Don't worry that it doesn't look flowery or poncey or literary enough. It just needs to be compelling, consistent and clear.

On the positive side, I think the pacing is excellent - although perhaps a little more drama and a little less rush when the door opens for the first time.

In addition, I get a real sense of Our Hero as a character, which is no mean feat on your part.

Most importantly, I'm actually rather keen to know what happens next. I think you are a good storyteller. You just need to find your voice.

Regards,

Peter

 

[2ndchance]

Oh yeah, isn't it obvious where she stuffs the sandwich, aint in her ear is it, especially as she thinks too much for one mouthful?

To me that would be info-dumping, thoughts?

Steve

 

[2ndchance]

Cheers Pete, me ol' mate. I buy inta' what ya' sayin'. I am trying to get a mix of flowers and mud. What I must do first, which I realised a while back, is get the grammer right, past perfect, simple, continuous, etc. Once I can do that in my sleep, and I aint far off, then its onto the next bit. As we stand I need fifty quid, I av' 'bout fortyfree pound, seventeen shillings and sixpence. You lot ave' the rest, so empty your pockets guys...........

Steve

BTW, Bex calls it a summerhouse coz its white, actually it was a annexe/house for the servants and indeed Meredith lived there as apposed to the main house, and Jane is gonaa hate that... There is even a bear hunting lodge the other side o' the lake, I know, so does Liz, but as Bex says, no bears mum, hmm none that we know about!

@march hair springs to mind, and for those over the pond we say here in the UK, mad as a march hair, but it don't mean she's mental, just not on the same plaet as us normal people. Hey, I'm nt normal, so where di that come from he-he.